Chaos Space (Sentients of Orion)

by Marianne de Pierres

  ‘Lucre? Of course!’ Tekton tossed a credit clip at the lab-rat.

  The ‘rat ran behind the counter. When the clip verified itself he scuttled back and stickered a HealthWatch patch on Manruben’s chest. ‘Nanites will take a little while. Maybe it’s too late, even. Have some business to attend to now. You should wait outside.’

  ‘Wait outside?’ Tekton frowned and mustered his most imperious demeanour. ‘Most unlikely.’ He turned on his heel and began to pace the length of the office.

  ‘Sir, may I say,’ said the young man, keeping his eyes carefully averted from Manruben’s exposed and shrunken manhood, ‘that it is surprising to meet such a cultured gentleman in this... establishment.’

  Tekton stopped and looked properly at the young man. Despite the voluminous robe, he was refined in looks and educated in manner. ‘I should say the same to you, young man.’

  To Tekton’s astonishment, tears filled the young man’s eyes and he cast the lab-rat a desperate look. ‘I-I c-can’t d-do i-it without knowing!’ he said between chattering teeth.

  ‘Knowing what?’ Tekton glanced back and forth between them. Then a sense of prescience tingled across his scrotum. What dealings had he interrupted?

  Words spurted from the young man’s mouth. ‘Whether the DNA will interact with the bact—’

  ‘You gotta go,’ insisted the lab-rat, hopping from paw to paw. ‘We got business. Now see! Now!’

  Moud, who is this impertinent creature?

  The door opened and a scarred balol entered, brandishing a Micro Tavor.

  Tekton initiated his Heedless Shadow which shot up from his shoulders like a tossed hat, arming itself as it unfolded. Its kinetic pistol blew the Tavor and the balol’s hand back out the door. The balol went howling after both.

  ‘I have paid for this temporary HealthWatch and I shall remain here until it works,’ said Tekton calmly.

  According to station records, Godhead, this laboratory is a bio-merchant’s distribution office for an OLOSS company. The ‘creature’ is simply a local employee.

  Tekton’s scrotum stopped tingling and tightened.

  Which company? The top of the chain, moud, not some insignificant subsidiary.

  That information will need to be retrieved from the Vreal Studium Byways. It will be charged to your allowance.

  Yes, yes, I know that. Just hurry up!

  Manruben gave a cough and began to breathe more evenly. Some of his colour had returned and his belly rumbled. He reached down between his legs and scratched.

  ... There are several inexpert attempts to conceal the connections but the original company is called Jis-Ward Inc...

  Tekton’s prickling testicular prescience spread into a full-scale body quiver. Who is the Principal?

  While the moud continued to hunt records in the Vreal Byways, Manruben began to hawk and spit and then mutter. Finally he sat up. When his eyes were able to focus, he seemed neither surprised nor concerned. ‘Where’s that girlie gone?’ he demanded. ‘I haven’t finished wi’ her.’

  ‘Sit still, you disgusting bag of bones. I have just paid exorbitantly for temporary HealthWatch which has brought you back from the dead. You will now keep away from women until our business is complete.’

  Manruben’s jaw sagged in dismay. ‘You’re a harsh one, Tekkie Godhead.’

  ‘Godhead?’ said the young man. ‘Does that... mean you are a tyro—from Belle-Monde?’

  Tekton inclined his head. ‘I am.’

  Good Sole, said Tekton’s moud, it’s Dicter Miranda Seeward.

  Aha! Tekton’s minds crowed. Gotcha!

  Instructing the Heedless Shadow to target the agitated lab-rat, Tekton drew the young man by the elbow over to the door, out of earshot. ‘And I sense that somehow you have been forced into unfortunate circumstances. Can I be of assistance, perhaps? I have access to the foremost expertise in microbiology.’

  The young man held out his hand. ‘Thales Berniere from Scolar. I have been tricked into accepting a job as a bio-courier.’ He lowered his voice. ‘My life has been further complicated by a chance meeting with a man who sought to further exploit my situation.’

  ‘May I enquire who engaged your services on Scolar?’

  ‘A man named Gutnee Paraburd from my homeworld. His real name, I have since learned, is Gutnee Fressian and he is a known criminal. He led me to believe that I was bringing back DNA that would be used in the vaccination of influenza. I am not at all sure that is the truth.’

  Tekton’s stomach fluttered with excitement. What is dear Miranda up to in her effort to impress Sole? ‘Perhaps it is time for you to find out.’ He reached to the door and flipped the lock. Then he turned purposefully back to the lab-rat who was gnawing the end of the counter in aggravation.

  ‘What is the true nature of the package that Msr Berniere is about to receive?’

  The lab-rat made a high-pitched sound. ‘I’ve ‘casted for station sec. Your arse is about to be dragged out of here.’

  Tekton did not quaver. ‘You may have noticed my security float. Not even the OLOSS elite forces would interfere with a gentleman wearing the Heedless Shadow.’

  The lab-rat’s whiskers quivered. ‘That’s a Shadow?’

  ‘Indeed. Would you like another display, or is it safe to assume that your job as a wretched laboratory hack is not worth the risk of a mishap?’

  ‘Mishap?’

  Tekton instructed the pistol to shoot the leg off Manruben’s chair.

  The craftsman crashed heavily to the ground, rolling into the middle of the room. ‘Oi! Oi!’ he cried. ‘You be trying to kill a man with fright?’

  ‘If necessary,’ said Tekton. He was enjoying himself immensely. More so, even, than during his blackmailing of Labile Connit.

  The lab-rat had crouched down behind the counter. Tekton could hear him gnawing the catoplasma.

  ‘Stand and speak,’ he ordered. ‘Or...’

  ‘Steady, steady,’ the ‘rat said. It popped its head around the corner. ‘You said it. I’m the hack. I just gun the couriers with their payload and go home. Don’t get involved past that.’

  Tekton told The Shadow to target the middle of the counter.

  The lab-rat spied the pistol realigning and a few moments later Tekton smelled the pungent aroma of urine.

  ‘I jus’ know the disease targets the orbitofrontal cortex,’ it squeaked.

  ‘To what purpose?’ Tekton could barely keep the shrill excitement out of his voice.

  The lab-rat peeped up and gave him a deprecating look. ‘To affect decision-making, of course. There are some subtleties to it that I don’t get. Haven’t seen it at work yet. Clever, though.’

  ‘Why would she want to affect decision-making on Scolar?’ mused Tekton aloud.

  Thales reached a hand out to the wall to steady himself. His face had drained of all colour. ‘I think I know. But you said “she”. Who is “she”?’

  The lab-rat, Thales and Manruben all stared expectantly at Tekton.

  TRIN

  He should have been relieved, even pleased, that Jilda was alive. Yet each evening as they boarded the flat- yachts to sail to the next island Trin’s irritation grew. At first he had tolerated her joy, was even able to endure her obsessive embraces and fondling. But within days her prattle and her moaning and her needs became the burden they had always been.

  She wept too long at the news that Franco was dead.

  ‘He gave you neither respect nor love and yet you grieve for him?’ Trin dug angrily into the sand, preparing a daytime hollow for them both. This island was larger than previous ones and had a shadowy spread of stunted bushes. Under Semantic’s indifferent glow he had chosen his shade bush furthest from the others. They were curious about his reunion with the Principessa. Too quick to listen and talk among themselves.

  ‘It would be the same if you had died, mio figlio. You have not always treated me respectfully but a woman loves with her heart, not her mind. Franco was a strong man, Trinder.’ />
  ‘And I am not?’

  Jilda clasped his hand and patted it in a way that made his stomach churn. ‘You have saved these people. You are destined to be like your father—a leader. But it was hard for you to become that in the shadow of his greatness. It was the right decision to send you to Loisa. He would be proud of you.’

  ‘Franco would never have been proud of me, madre. I am your child.’

  His barb stung her to silence and she huddled disconsolately in the grey dark, a frail, unkempt woman in the tatters of a grand fellalo.

  Trin continued to scoop out sand. Dawn was close now and Djeserit still hadn’t returned to the shallows. He had seen little of her during the past few days, as if she was hesitant to come near him since rescuing Jilda.

  It was Jilda and her Galiotto servant who recounted their escape from the Palazzo Island. They told Trin how they had been hiding in a backhouse since the Saqr had landed at the Palazzo, living on sea vegetables and molluscs that the Galiotto collected from the tide line under the cover of dark.

  When they were alone the Galiotto also told Trin of her meeting with Mira Fedor, and how the mercenaries had killed her brother before her eyes. The girl wept as she remembered the chore of burying him, using shells to dig deep enough into the sand. Her voice became so thick with emotion that Trin could barely understand her. But finally, when she had unburdened the worst of her memories, she sat up straighter and managed a tremulous smile. ‘The Baronessa entrusted a message to me. She said that you must go further south to the Galgos, that the Saqr would not follow you into the water. And scuzzi, Principe. Felicitazione for your bambino!’

  Trin was stunned for a moment. ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘Baronessa Fedor spoke of it. She wanted your madre to know.’

  ‘How kind of the Baronessa,’ he said softly. ‘And did you pass this news to the Principessa?’

  The girl bowed her head. ‘I-I have not. It seemed—’

  ‘How did it seem, Tina?’ Trin urged.

  ‘I was not sure if it was true. The Baronessa was distraught. Not in a calm mind.’ The servant trembled, fearing that she had given offence.

  Trin put a comforting, collusive hand on her shoulder. ‘You must not speak of this to anyone, Tina. Mira Fedor deserted us and escaped with the mercenaries. It has caused much upset among those who are left.’

  Tina Galiotto’s face registered shock. ‘But I thought that the Baronessa had left to bring help for our world.’

  ‘No!’ said Trinder quickly, barely controlling his impulse to shake the girl. ‘That is not so, Tina Galiotto, and do not let me catch you speaking of such things.’

  ‘Si, Principe.’ She bowed her head. ‘Si.’

  * * *

  Trin returned to the beach after he had fashioned day-hollows for Jilda and himself, leaving her to be tended by her servant. Djeserit had left them only a small amount of fish and Juno Genarro had taken help to search the lightening shoreline for weed and edible sponges. Trin could see the group now, bent to their task, shaking sand from weed and piling it into makeshift slings.

  A small group lingered around Joe Scali as he fussed over the tiny desalinator that Djeserit had brought from the Palazzo. Lack of fresh water was their biggest single fear. If the desalinator broke they would perish.

  Trin turned his gaze back the way they had come. The islands were like dark stones on the lighter sea and behind them was the long, unending shadow of the mainland. How he longed for the taste of cooked meat and the mellow flavour of Araldisian wine on his palate. They were simple cravings but profound and they brought with them a surge of disproportionate rage. How long could they keep up this ridiculous flight of bare survival? And Djeserit—she could not continue the gruelling duty of providing food for so many.

  He kicked out angrily against the gently slapping water, repeating the action until his legs shook with fatigue and the pain of fury weighed deeply in his chest.

  Trin threw himself down then, his face barely clear of the water, his hands gripping deep into the sand against the pull of the tide. It would be easy to drift out of his depth. It would not take long to drown—like all the Ciprianos he was a poor swimmer. Perhaps he should have left with Mira Fedor and taken his child to another place.

  ‘Trinder?’

  Djeserit was there, surfacing alongside him, blowing a gentle exhalation spray from her gills.

  Trin rolled on his side to face her. ‘How did you know?’ he said hoarsely. ‘How did you know that I needed you?’

  She gave a low chuckle, a sound rusty from lack of use. ‘I heard you, Principe. You cannot thump at the water in such a way without deafening us.’

  Us? The word caught in his chest. ‘You have been avoiding me.’

  Djes buckled onto her knees and cupped Trin’s face

  in her hands with her thick webbed fingers. Her face was changing, her skin glistening like that of the fish she pulled fresh from the sea for them to eat.

  ‘Not avoiding you. I’ve been exploring as far ahead as I could and I’ve got news. There are two islands between us “and a deep channel. On the other side of the channel there’s a bigger place where I think we can stay—high cliffs and thick vegetation. Never seen it like that before on Araldis.’

  Trin sat up, pulled her onto his lap and kissed her. They sank down into the water together, flattening their profile to the curious watchers. Her arms felt cool and prickly around him as if scales were forming on them, and her mouth had the briny taste of the seaweed that they had all been eating. He was losing her to the sea and yet he could not make her stop. Her special physiology was all that kept them alive.

  ‘You are sure?’

  Djes nodded. ‘I left the water and walked as far as I could before I had to turn back to still be here before dawn. The island is huge. Fifty times the size of this one.’ She sounded excited now.

  ‘The channel must be the Galgos Straits. Will the flat-yachts be able to navigate it?’

  ‘I think the crossing will take more than a day. It’s rough and I had to swim deeper than I wanted to, to avoid a family of xoc.’

  She said it quickly, with no great emphasis, but Trin’s heart contracted. ‘Xoc! Then you must not go out again. It is too dangerous.’

  Djes patted her webbed hand against Trin’s cheek and breathed salty flavours into his nose and mouth.

  ‘You’ll need me in the water for the crossing. It’s not like these gentle passages. There’re reefs that you won’t see until you run across them.’

  ‘But—’

  Her hand pressed to his mouth. ‘I will come aboard to rest.’

  Trin could think of no argument to deter her. Her devotion to him somehow neutralised the offensiveness of her independent manner. Or perhaps it was simply that she made such simple, logical decisions. Unlike Cass Mulravey whose abrasive way and ready prejudices were like oxygen to his fire.

  ‘When we reach the new island, we will be able to fish for ourselves. You will come back to the land,’ he said.

  But the mounting light showed Trin the uncertainty in Djes’s expression, and he pulled her tightly to him. ‘You will,’ he repeated.

  JO-JO RASTEROVICH

  The uuli guide led Jo-Jo and Catchut through a series of smaller compartments into a large darkened space. The dim lighting revealed the convocation chamber to be a catoplasma balloon ridged with concentric seating—and stinking of an unreasonable fusion of odours.

  Jo-Jo’s throat began to close again. He massaged it from the outside and told himself that he couldn’t be allergic to sweat.

  They were shown to armchairs at the bottom of the chamber.

  ‘When you are ready to convene, make contact with the conductive strip in the curve of your headrest. I will return to you afterwards,’ said the uuli.

  Catchut poked the strip with suspicion. ‘Like my virtuals to be somethin’ I can put on and take off,’ he grumbled. ‘Never know what they’re stealing from you otherwise.’

  Jo
-Jo had an urge to laugh. He hadn’t reckoned Catchut for a Luddite.

  ‘Why don’t you just sit and watch me breathe, then?’

  Catchut growled and banged his head back against the sensor. A few seconds later his face relaxed.

  Jo-Jo leaned into the strip more carefully. But the transition was smooth enough and he found himself in a perfect representation of the same chamber surrounded by tiers of bodies engaged in the type of squabbling behaviour that Jo-Jo had spent most of his life avoiding.

  He glanced across at Catchut. The mercenary had chosen a female avatar with long, sensuous legs: a suitable companion for a God-Discoverer.

  Suppressing his desire to laugh, Jo-Jo let the clash of the surrounding arguments sink into his mind, sorting one thread from another. One section of the convocation was bickering over trade agreements with OLOSS, while a smaller, less vocal core were analysing the reason for the unusually large presence of Extropists on Rho Six. Beneath those layers of discussion were individual conversations. He skimmed across them until one blew all other thoughts from his mind: a report of a shooting incident in the Heijunka section of Bell One between a hired balol security guard and a visiting Lostolian archiTect.

  Lostolian archiTect?

  ‘Convocation has the privilege of an unexpected visit from one of Orion’s most notable speakers, Josef Rasterovich the Third, frequently referred to as the God-Discoverer. Welcome, Msr Rasterovich,’ announced the speaker.

  No. But...

  Jo-Jo was forced to launch into his patter, which he delivered while he tried to follow the sub-channelling. Annoyingly, most of it had stopped or had dropped below his auditory level. The Convocation, it seemed, were captivated by his story.

  To his relief the speaker called for a break before question time.

  Jo-Jo leapt from his chair. Nausea from the rapid

  reality switch burned its way up his oesophagus. He burped it out and called for the uuli escort.

  ‘What is it?’ Catchut was standing behind him, blinking and clutching his stomach. ‘What happened?’